The Untold Stories
by Midnight523
Summary: Far apart from my first series, these are going to be little snapshots from each episode, to dive a little more in-depth to our beloved characters feelings, thoughts, off-screen conversations. Rated T because some episodes might get ugly depending on what's happening inside. Hope you enjoy!
1. Scorpio

**All right, everyone, I'm baaaaack! I decided to try something new. This series will have no part of my other stories. Instead, I'm going to go in order of the episodes of Flashpoint, and right a story based on a line or a scene for each one. If there is something you want to see, just let me know through reviews!**

Clark grinned to himself as he hit the note he had been working on for weeks. One part of his mind focused on the music he was playing while the other focused on what his friends were playing around him. They were going to kill it at the anniversary dinner tonight.

He paused when his phone started ringing, signaling to his friends to keep playing as confusion spread when he realized it was his mom calling him. She knew he was practicing right now, so it must be important if she was calling him now. He began to smile hopefully as he thought that maybe she was calling to say that dad was coming tonight to the anniversary; that he was coming to hear him play.

"Hey, mom."

"Clark…" Clark's eyes widened and he knew that this could be nothing good. His mom didn't just sound like this with happy news. He wanted to ask what was going on, what was wrong, but words just couldn't come out. So he waited and listened.

"Sweetheart, there was a hostage situation today. Your father's team was called." The fact that she was calling meant that there were only two options as to what happened, and he didn't want to voice one of them, couldn't even think it, so he let her continue to talk. "Scorpio was called, Clark." Clark's eyes widened as he realized what that meant. He thought it even as his mom spoke it. "Your dad is going to need us tonight. I just wanted you to be prepared. He might be a little off tonight."

Clark knew what she meant, knew that his dad might start acting like a zombie, walking aimlessly around the house, trying to cope with what he had to do. With what it was his job to do. He only hoped that it wasn't a kid who his dad had to take down. He hadn't had to that Clark could remember, but he had a feeling it would be so much worse if it were a child instead of an adult. "Okay, mom," he said softly. There wasn't really anything else he could say.

FPFPFPFPFPFPFP

Clark leaned forward on the edge of his bed, waiting for his dad to come home. He knew it had to be any minute now, and he was waiting anxiously for it to come. Finally, he heard it. The door opening almost silently before shutting, the lock clicking into place. He shot up, moving carefully down the stairs.

"Dad?" Clark wanted to say something else, but wasn't sure what he could say. He was surprised when his dad moved forward and wrapped him in a hug, kissing his forehead and just holding him. Clark didn't know how else he could help, but if this was what his dad needed, this is what he would give him. So he said nothing, just hugging his dad fiercely in return.

 **Hope you all enjoyed! Please review and tell me your ideas for episode 2!**


	2. First in Line

**Hey guys!**

 **I am so, so sorry that it went so long without me updating. I only have on thing to say in my defense: LIFE. Life just got hectic, with school, work, everything in between. I can't promise that I'll update more frequently, but I really do appreciate all the reviews!**

 **As a way of saying sorry, I put in three different snippets for this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it. You can all thank missblueeyes63 and a guest reviewer for these prompts. Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Flashpoint. At all. I own my computer, which I watch Flashpoint on, but not the tv series. Sorry.**

 **Ed thinking about how he was a contributing factor in Sam sending in the heart**

He was going to kill Braddock.

Sending the heart up, what was he thinking? He could've gotten someone killed; he could've gotten the heart injured in some way. He couldn't believe Braddock didn't call this up.

But then again, Braddock wouldn't have even sent the heart up if he hadn't been on that coffee run.

Ed sat heavily on the bench, staring blankly at the lockers in front of him. This was his fault. He had gotten irritated at the rookie; had sent him out for coffee to get him away from the situation for awhile, and they had nearly lost everything. This wasn't on Braddock; this was on him.

The patient had almost died; Jack had almost died because of an error in his judgment. He had allowed his emotions to get the better of him in his irritation at the rookie, and it had nearly caused havoc to come over the entire situation. It had gotten Wordy shot. This was entirely his fault.

As this new realization settled over him, Ed ignored Braddock coming out of the shower, his earlier inclination to yell at him gone as he realized that the rookie wasn't the only one to blame. He walked past the confused man and left, needing to go to the gun range, or the gym, something to get his frustrations out. He didn't spare Braddock a second glance.

 **Greg thinking about Dean**

If you asked anyone on Team One, Sergeant Greg Parker was a very emotional, open man. He was the type of man you felt you knew even if you only met him once because he seemed to keep his opinions open and expressed and helped you understand yourself better. But as Team One thought on how this day turned out, they realized that their sergeant was a man who had a whole host of secrets that were painful and that he didn't let anyone else see.

 _"Dad, he's over there!"_

Parker paused as he stopped by the door, debating whether this was something he really wanted to do. He knew he had no real reason to keep the glove; it wasn't like Dean was keeping it for any reason. After all, he hadn't seen his son in nine years. As far as he knew, Dean didn't even think about it anymore; it wasn't even a part of his life.

 _"Here you go, little man. Everyone needs to have a memento of a good day, huh?"_

But this glove was precious to him, precious in the memories it held, because it was almost all he had left of his son. He still remembered the day that Dean got that glove, still remembered the awed look on his young son's face as he hesitantly accepted the signed glove. And that moment was precious, so precious to him, and he was about to give it away?

 _"Dad, look!" The wonder on Dean's face was so bright, the smile so infectious that Parker instantly labeled it the highlight of his day. "He gave me his glove!"_

But then he thought about the Dean he used to know, the boy who would pause on his way to a friend's house to help an elderly lady take in her groceries. He was the most helpful spirited boy that Parker had ever known, and he had a feeling that Dean would want this.

 _"Today was the best day EVER!"_

As he set the glove on the table, he hesitated briefly before sitting down. Phoebe's father couldn't be with her now, and he had no one to go home to, so he figured she could use someone else in there with her, someone to keep her company for just a little while. As she slept, he sat quietly, patiently, and thought. Thought about all he had lost, all he had gained, and wondered if he would ever see his son again.

FPFPFPFPFPFPFP

Walking into he holding cell later that day, he could see that the father thought he had lost his daughter today, and it gave him joy to be able to say what he had come to say. "Phoebe's going to be all right," he started. He knew the father didn't believe him, and paused before he continued on, making sure to keep his voice composed. "The man who was supposed to get the heart? He talked to the doctors. He decided to give up the heart." Jack paused, looking at Parker with something akin to hope. "He wants Phoebe to have it instead."

The look of hope, gratitude, and desperate relief was overwhelming, and the single father brought his face to his hands, unable to say anything as the emotions washed over him. Parker clasped his shoulder in a show of silent support; hoping, _praying_ that one day, he would be able to see his son again, and maybe, just maybe, he would be able to experience all the conflicting emotions that came with being a parent again.

 **Sam feeling like a misfit—missing Matt, wonder at how no one died**

"Job's not about being a good shot. Job's about saving lives."

Sam had stared at his new boss in exasperation. _Really?_ There was a perp in the hospital with a gun and hostages. What other way was there? That was what he thought. Now, looking back at the day, he had different emotions warring inside of him, and he wasn't sure what felt more up front.

This is what he was trained to do: what he himself had trained himself to do. To go over the day with a clear eye, break down anything he had done wrong, tell himself how he could have done it right. Look at everything he had done right (which wasn't much today, in his opinion) and see how he could have done it better. It helped him become better and better until he was the best, and he planned to be the best. He needed to be the best. Because the best survived, and the best kept everyone else alive, too.

Emotion one: irritation. Lane hadn't even considered his input before directly putting them down. That never would've happened in his old unit. Everyone there had listened to what he had to say about their plan with interest and respect. Lane just immediately put it down and then had the nerve to send him on a coffee run like he was some fresh-faced rookie! He might be new to the SRU, but he had been through more than any of these officers. He had gone through two tours with JTF-2, was the best sniper in the army, and they had him running coffee errands. He wasn't like other new rookies. He was a vet; he had life experience. Surely that had to count for something.

Sam let the irritation slide, emotion now picked apart and addressed. Then came the second emotion: guilt. It was his fault that the heart had been sent up. He didn't even think to check with his team, too insulted about being sent on the coffee run, too sure of himself. When the doc had called him over and started that whole "You left your team to deal with the fire" he had assumed the worst. He had thought that at least one person had died, and it would have been his fault. It was always his fault when things went wrong. When he got up there, everyone had looked fine; everyone was standing. But it turned out that Wordsworth had been shot, and it was only pure luck that it was in the vest. His death would've been on Sam, and Sam blamed himself bitterly for that.

Sam packed it away to torture himself with it later, knowing that he needed to move on before he didn't sleep at all tonight. Last emotion on the checklist: awe. He didn't know how else to put it. He was used to the whole "shoot the perp on sight" routine. He was the best at what he did, but this wasn't that anymore. _Job's not about being a good shot. Job's about saving lives._ When Parker had first said that, Sam had scoffed at his naivety. You don't always have the luxury of thinking you can save everyone. But then Team One had done what Sam had thought was impossible: they turned what should've been a kill mission into one that had everyone come out alive. Sam still wasn't sure how that happened, but he knew he wanted to see it happen again. He wanted to be a part of it, wanted to save lives. Save some to maybe make up for the ones he took, to make up for the one life he should have saved above all else, but couldn't.

But he knew Team One didn't think very highly of him; knew that their feelings towards him probably went way down over this call, especially when they found out he was the one who sent the heart up. He knew they hated him for coming onto their team without having to go through all the testing like others did; hated how they didn't get to choose him. He knew, and he understood. Hate was an emotion he was pretty familiar with. Because sometimes, he hated himself.

But he was determined to stay on this team for as long as possible. He was determined to help save lives. He just wished he could do it with his best friend by his side, his brother in all but blood.

"I miss you, Matt," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry."

He leaned back against the headboard, thinking of his lost friend. The friend he… "I miss you," he whispered again. Then he turned out the light and went to sleep.

 **Well, I hope you enjoyed these! Please review and let me know what you think, what you want to be in the next one, etc. etc. I absolutely LOVE reviews!**


	3. Element of Surprise

**Hey guys! Surprise, surprise: I'm not dead!**

 **I'm sorry you guys had to wait so long for an update—school has really been kicking my butt this year. It is just paper after paper after paper for me to write. Ugh. But, I had some time during my spring break this week and thought I would try to post another one. Hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Flashpoint. What a surprise**

"Maybe I was wrong, Sam, maybe." Shoves Sam against the car, furious. There was a kid dead who could possibly be alive right now if Sam had just listened to him. "But I need to know that my team is on my side."

Sam stared at him for a moment, watching his TL retreat. Part of him just wanted to accept it like he had been trained to do. He had disobeyed orders. But part of him, a strong part, was sick of this. He was sick of the lie that he was a part of this team. He knew he had been forced onto Team One, but he was trying his hardest. There was an officer in there, and he did not want to lose another comrade. "Then treat me like I'm on your team." _I just had to say something. Crap._

"What?"

Sam glared back, not backing down. If he was in this, he might as well go all the way. "You want to know what happened in Afghanistan? Is that what this is about?" He could see in Ed's eyes that this was exactly what it was about. He silently cursed his old unit member, knowing he was partially to blame. _Deeds, not words._ And now he was about to relive the worst deed he had ever committed. "I was taking out targets in a stronghold, 1500 meters away." He hated how his voice wavered, but couldn't help it as he was immediately transported back to the place of his worst nightmares. He could feel the gun in his hands, taste the dry air, remember every single shot he fired that day. "The reccy was done, I was cleared to fire."

 _He had been praised for his quick and efficient shooting. These guys were his friends, his brothers-in-arms. They were a good team._

"We went down to do the ID's. One of them was my buddy Matt." Sam's voice cracks, sounds like he's about to cry.

 _He could see Matt's face, clear as day, as the huge hole in his chest was stained red. He had fallen to his knees, shaking his friend, his brother; checking his pulse, praying that this was not real._

"I was sniping with a .50 cal." He doesn't see Ed look away, shifting uncomfortably.

 _He could hear his unit members asking what was wrong. Could hear them moving towards him, kneeling down. His CO's breath caught in the older man's throat. "Braddock. What did you do?"_

"He shouldn't have been there. I was clear to fire."

 _"_ _He shouldn't have been there. I was clear to fire." Even as the dazed words passed through Sam's lips, he could feel his unit backing away from him, glaring at him. Giving him the blame he so rightly deserved._

The two men stared at each other for a moment, Sam's gaze finally snapping back to the present. He knows he looks like he's about to cry, but at this point he doesn't care. "You just had to ask."

 _He wanted to kill himself for what he'd done, but knew that it would be better than he deserved. It was his fault that Matt was dead, his fault. Ever since that day, his unit members began shunning him, staying away from him. He understood. He knew that he deserved it: he deserved to get pushed away from everyone. He deserved to be alone._

Sam stood there, waiting for his TL to tell him he was off the team. Waiting for him to say that he couldn't be trusted—it was what he expected. It was what he deserved. And so he waited. But Lane's next words surprised him.

"You go in on my command. You keep entry formation, and you don't go in without a shield. Are we clear?"

Sam couldn't believe his ears. Lane wanted him to stay on the team? He wasn't going to kick him off? Why? He barely managed to voice out, "Sir." He watched as Lane walked away, and vaguely wondered if he was only keeping him on the team to punish him at a later date, throw him out when he least expected it, like his unit had basically done. Wait until Sam had grown more attached to his team, and then rip it all away. He knew he should just walk away now, before he got hurt again, but he knew that when he was finally kicked off the team, it would hurt more then than it did now. And he deserved to be punished more.

So he stayed.

 **I hope you all enjoyed. Please review and let me know how you liked this chapter and what you would like to see in the next chapter!**


	4. Asking for Flowers

**AN: Well, guess what? I'm not dead! I'm sorry for the long wait, but school kinda got me carried away to shun social life. Anyway, here you go.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Flashpoint or any of its characters.**

 ** _Clark comes home with busted lip_**

Ed knew that he had to do something. Wordy was right; he couldn't stand around and be a bystander. But neither did he want to go off and leave Clark thinking that Ed didn't think he could defend himself.

He was dribbling around Clark, trying to make a clear shot to the basketball hoop in the driveway. Clark stole it away from him, completing a lay-up that had Ed shaking his head in pride.

"So," he started. Clark raised an eyebrow at him, inviting him to go further. "Wanna tell me what happened to that lip of yours?"

Ed watched as Clark's entire countenance shut down. He refused to look his dad in the eyes, instead opting to shot a three-pointer. "Not really."

"Clark, I just want to know what's going on."

"You mean you want to know so that you can yell at me properly," Clark said bitterly.

Ed stole the ball, stopping the game briefly. "I'm not going to yell at you, buddy. I'm just worried about you, is all." Clark still refused to look at him. "All right," Ed decided. "Tell you what. Quick game, one-on-one. First one to five wins. If I win, you tell me what happened to you."

"And if I win?" Clark asked suspiciously, but eyes brightening slightly at the thought of the proper game.

Ed looked him in the eye. "I never bother you about this again."

Clark didn't even hesitate. "Deal."

With that, he stole the ball back from his dad and quickly went around him, scoring the first point. "Come on, old man," Clark said tauntingly. "Only four more to go."

Ed grinned and accepted the ball, scoring the next point easily.

The game after that took far longer than either had anticipated. Thirty minutes later it was getting extremely dark out, and Sophie had called in a warning that she wanted Clark to finish his math homework before too long. It was tied at four apiece, and Ed currently had the ball.

He was just about to score when the ball was blocked by a truly impressive jump Clark had made, and his son dribbled around Ed tauntingly in a circle before effortlessly sending the ball to sail through the net.

Ed couldn't even pretend he was upset about losing when his son whooped and made victory laps around the driveway. He shook his head, grabbing the ball and prepared to go inside.

"All right, all right," he chuckled. "You make your point. Let's go inside before your mom kills me because you haven't finished your homework yet."

Clark fell into step beside him, and right before they reached the door, he stopped, making Ed look over at him. "No more asking about my lip?"

"A deal's a deal," Ed affirmed. "No more asking."

Still Clark hesitated. "Clark?"

He let out a breath. "A bully cornered me in the gym locker room, was making fun of me for playing the cello. He punched me and hit my lip." Ed was getting angry until Clark finished the story. "I don't think he was expecting me to hit him back."

"Wait…what?"

Clark grinned up at him. "I did pay attention to those self-defense moves you taught me, you know. I got a busted lip, he got a bloody nose. I think we pretty much agreed to leave each other alone from now on."

Ed stared at him before he started chuckling and then laughing. "Nice job, buddy. Nice job."

"You're not mad?" Clark asked hopefully.

"Why would I be mad?" Ed countered. "You stood up for yourself, and you protected yourself. I don't have any reason to be mad at you. I'm proud of you."

Clark smiled then, leaning over to give his dad a hug. "Thanks."

"You're my son, Clark. I'll always be proud of you."

FPFPFPFPFPFPFP

 ** _Wordy watching movies with his girls_**

After he greeted Shelley, Wordy contented himself with settling down with a movie for the night. His girls were all ready for bed, teeth brushed and tucked in. Soon it was just he and his beloved, amazing wife.

"Hard call?" she asked quietly. He hadn't spoken of work at all tonight.

He pulled her closer on the couch, resting his head atop hers. "Brought up some bad memories. Memories of me being helpless."

She let him hold her, drawing comfort from him as he held her. She didn't have to think hard to understand what he was talking about. There weren't many times when he confessed feeling helpless to her, and one time in particular was always at the top of the list. She didn't ask him to tell her about the call; she had a feeling that neither one of them would like what he had to say.

Instead, she pulled back, a mischievous glint in her eyes. He knew that look and debated between groaning and smiling. "Shelley…"

"Kevin…" she said back in the same voice. "You'll love it, I promise."

He shook his head, grinning. "Let me go get changed."

When he got back, ready for the night in sweatpants and a bag of goldfish at his side. He settled on the couch next to the love of his life. "What are we watching?"

She grinned happily. "The Princess Bride." He raised an eyebrow, and her voice turned pleading. "C'mon Kevin," she pushed. "It's a classic. You'll love it, I promise."

He kissed her and leaned back against the couch, pulling Shelley against him. "I never said I wouldn't watch it. Play away, Shell. I'm yours."

 **Like it? Hate it? Have suggestions for the next episode? Please review and let me know!**


	5. Who's George

**Hey guys! I know, I know, I have been gone forever. Don't really have an excuse, just one word: sorry.**

 **This is season 1 episode 5: Who's George. As I re-watched it, I realized just how much these guys were laying into Sam, and it kind of pissed me off. He's trying, and they're not letting him without some type of comeback. So, anywho, here we are.**

 **Disclaimer: None of it is mine, not even poor Sam. Oh well.**

He was finally done with the questioning. He understood the reasoning now, though he didn't like it. "You guys seen Parker?"

The response was not one he was expecting. A drink? They wanted to take him out to get a drink? Why?

He put the thoughts aside when he spotted his boss. He answered the expected question easily, his own return drawing an unexpected show of emotion. When he asked what he really wanted to know, though, the question on whether Sarge needed another set of eyes, the answer disappointed him, thought at the same time he knew it should be expected. Why would Sarge want him to look over the case? Why would he, when Sam couldn't do anything right here?

He turned to leave, dejection radiating off of him despite him trying to hide it. When Sarge called him back, he couldn't help but become hopeful. Maybe he would be able to redeem himself, get the others not to seem him as a shoot first, ask questions later kind of guy. He would become perfect, and when he did, they would have to accept him.

FPFPFPFPFPFPFP

Ed and Wordy were slightly disappointed when Sam turned down their offer of drinks, and extremely confused. They were trying to draw the younger man into their circle, but he wasn't letting them. Ed went home to Sophie and Clark, and Wordy decided to go for a walk around town. Shelley and the girls were out for a girls' night, and he had a couple of hours before they got home.

He kept walking before he paused, backing up slightly. Staring inside the window, he moved briskly towards the door. He didn't know what Sam was doing here, but he had a feeling it wasn't anything good.

Sam was alone, moving around a punching bag like it was every dirty cop and baby killing jerk-bag all rolled into one. And he wasn't wearing any protection for his hands. "Sam," he called.

Sam glanced up, didn't quite scowl but close enough, and then went back to the bag. "What are you doing here, Wordy?" he asked without looking back.

"Was walking around, saw you and thought I would come in."

"Why?"

Wordy raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I just wanted to work out."

"Then you might want to get changed, sir." Sam was still staring at the bag as he jabbed out left, then right fist. Wordy knew something was going on.

"All right, you got me. I didn't come here to work out. I saw you and thought you might want to talk."

"About what, sir?"

There was that 'sir' business again. He knew that something was seriously wrong. "Maybe about why you skipped out on drinks with Ed and I, for one." Silence. "We're trying to get to know you, Sam."

"No, you're not," Sam said back. It wasn't said angrily, wasn't even sad. Just resigned acceptance.

"Why do you think we're not?"

Finally Sam looked up, grabbing hold of the bag to stop it from swinging back to him. His eyes were angry, but his whole disposition just screamed defiant. "You guys don't want to get to know me. Not really. Everyone think's I'm the person who always wants to shoot first and ask questions later. No one thinks I can change. No one sees that I'm trying; I'm really trying."

"Sam, we don't—"

"No?" Sam cut Wordy off. "What about today? When I wanted to be Sarge's second so I could get field training, Jules only response was 'You know you can't blow or shoot anything up in the truck'. Sarge told me this morning after the practice that the sole reason I'm bad at negotiating is because I want to shoot them, basically because shooting them is the only thing I know. I am _sorry_ that I spent four years protecting my country as a soldier! I thought I was doing something right, but apparently, according to you guys, it's the worst thing in the world." Wordy couldn't even interrupt now; he had nothing he could say. "I know I'm not the best at this, but I am _trying_. I am trying as hard as I can, but every decision I make, every thing I say is turned back on me, ridiculing me as I'm trying to learn here. I know I'm not perfect, Wordy. But even though Ed might not think I am, I am listening, and I am hearing every word you guys say. So forgive me for not wanting to go out to drinks with you guys, but I've had enough judgment for today."

Wordy tried to think of something to say, but he had nothing. It didn't matter, though, because Sam was heading towards the locker room. "It's getting late, Wordy. If you don't mind, I'm heading home."

He didn't give Wordy a chance to tell Sam whether he minded or not, because the younger man was out of the locker room and out the door before Wordy could even think of telling him to stop; to wait.

He was left in the empty gym, staring wordlessly at the abandoned door. Finally, he snapped out of his daze and pulled his cell phone out. "Ed? We need to talk."

 **Please let me know if there is something specific you want to see in the next chapter. I promise I will try to get it up faster!**


	6. Attention Shoppers

**Because I took so long to update last time, I thought I would give you guys two in one day. I hope you enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: Flashpoint does not belong in anyway to me.**

Jules smiled as she shook her head, heading home to get changed again. Going out to breakfast with the guys had been good—had been really fun and relaxing. Getting to know Sam, getting to _really_ know him, was fun.

Greg, Ed, and Wordy had sat down her, Lew, and Spike and explained to them that things had to change with the way they were treating Sam. Wordy had explained how they were ridiculing Sam for every effort he was making to try and be better. The three younger members were suitably chastened and ashamed, and all vowed to make things better with their teammate.

For the most part, she think it worked. Sam seemed to be a bit more relaxed, though Jules thought he still seemed a bit wary. And with that, Jules knew for sure that her teammates were correct. And she vowed to herself that she would change, would make sure he knew that he was welcome on this team, _his_ team.

She took a few minutes to shower and then set an alarm for an hour later, knowing she would have to sleep tonight to get back on her regular schedule.

Two hours later, her doorbell rang. She looked up in surprise from her movie and paused it. Opening the door, she smiled in surprise. "Scott! What are you doing here?"

He grinned, looking good in plain black t-shirt and jeans. "You busy?"

She shook her head. "Watching a movie and trying to decide what to eat for lunch."

"Well then," he flourished out two tickets. Jules furrowed her brow in confusion, tilting her head to read it.

"Unlimited games?"

Scott was still grinning. "It was bowling, right?"

Jules flushed and groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I forgot about that."

"Come on, Jules," Scott begged. "We need to go before your personal assistant finds out and thinks of something else for us to do."

Jules whacked him as she turned to grab her shoes and purse. "You are having way too much fun with this."

"So…" Scott wondered as he pulled the car out of the drive. "When did you get a personal assistant?"

Jules hit him again.

FPFPFPFPFPFPFP

Sam was the last stop of Wordy's minivan express, and he knew without a doubt that the older man had planned it that way.

Wordy put the car in park at Sam's apartment, leaning back in his seat. Sam wanted to bolt, but he knew that Wordy wanted to talk.

"Sam—"

"I never should've gone off on you like that," Sam rushed out. "I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

Wordy stared at him in confusion. Then sudden realization dawned on him. "Sam, what you told me—it was well deserved. Man, we probably deserved a lot worse than what you dished out." He forced the younger man's gaze to face his own. "Sam, you did the right thing. I needed to hear that." Sam looked away, and Wordy knew his point had been driven home. "We all did."

Sam kept looking away before he finally nodded, bringing his eyes back to his teammate's. "Thanks for the ride home."

Wordy knew that the younger man was thanking him for more than the ride, but he nodded anyway. "Hey," he said as Sam got out of the car. Sam paused at grabbing his bag, eyes asking the question. "Shelley's making spaghetti tonight, and she always makes too much. Way too much, we end up putting at least half of it in the freezer, if not more." Sam was still confused, even though Wordy thought his invitation was clear. "There's a place at the table with your name on it, if you want it."

"Really? You're serious?"

"Of course, man. 6:30. Don't be late."

"Yes, sir," Sam grinned. "Thank you."

Wordy smiled and nodded, watching until Sam had let himself into his apartment before turning around and heading home.

 **I know it's shorter than usual, but I hope you liked it anyway! Please review and let me know what you think and/or what you want to see in the next chapter!**


	7. He knows his brother

**S1E7 He knows his brother**

 **Hey guys. I had a really hard time writing this one, but I hope you enjoy it! Please review!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Flashpoint or any of its characters.**

Jules wanted to say something else snappy at her teammate who was sitting oh-so-relaxed in his chair while she and the rest of the team were working to clean up. However, him bolting upright kind of took the wind right out of her sails. She watched as he reread something again, and then stalked out of the room, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

She and Ed shared a glance before going over to the newspaper. She nodded, indicating she would handle it, and went to go find the rookie.

FPFPFPFPFPFPFP

Whatever she was expecting when she went to talk to Sam, it wasn't what she found out. Not going to the procession, just because he killed himself? Jules really didn't think that someone deserved to be rejected just because they didn't have the strength to make it through life anymore.

Though Sam had said he wouldn't go to the procession, his exact words if she recalled were "You give up like that, you don't mean anything to us anymore" she had a feeling that the former soldier wouldn't really ignore his friend's procession.

Her theory was proved correct as she sat in her car off the highway, binoculars to her eyes. She had come early to find the best vantage point, and now she almost wished she hadn't, just so Sam could have the privacy to cry without anyone watching. She didn't know what to do, didn't know how to help but _something_ inside of her needed to do something. Watching Sam break down like this was heartbreaking, and there wasn't a single thing she could do to make it better.

She remained on the road long after the procession had passed, long after Sam had left, trying to figure out what she could do to help her teammate. Finally, she knew there was only one thing she _could_ do, even if it didn't work or help in any way.

FPFPFPFPFPFPFP

Sam glanced up as someone knocked on his apartment door. He debated whether he should just let the person knock until they thought no one was home, but finally sighed and got up. Could be someone important, though he couldn't fathom a guess as to who.

Jules Callaghan standing at his door, one hand raised to knock again was definitely not anywhere near who he thought would be here. "Jules? We get called in?"

He thought he had his phone turned on again, but he might have forgotten to actually do it after going to the highway. He couldn't really remember, but…no, it was on and there were no calls. He looked again to his teammate who had accepted his offer to come in. "What are you doing here, Jules?"

She held up the bag she had brought in with her; her peace offering. Inside was a six-pack. "I thought you might want to talk."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Didn't see the reaction you wanted to at the highway?" he finally asked. He half-smirked at her confused expression. "I was in JTF-2, Jules. Taking in your surroundings is part of the job. I know you were there." He turned around and headed to the couch. "You didn't even try to change your car."

"Sorry," Jules said softly. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

She offered him a beer, and couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief when he accepted. She sat on the other end of the couch and pulled her legs under her. "Did you want to talk about it at all?"

When she had first met Sam, she thought he was cocky and arrogant, would say whatever came to mind because he thought he was always right. This quiet, introspective side of him was not what she would have expected.

"We always said that suicide was the coward's way out," he finally said. "You do that, you mean nothing to us. But he was my friend. I can't just… I can't turn away from him just because he was the one who pulled the trigger. He was one of my best friends."

"Sometimes," Jules said carefully, "the world just gets too heavy for some people to carry when they feel like they're all alone. Sometimes—"

"Sometimes the amount of times you pull the trigger and take lives is too much to live with," Sam interrupted her quietly. Jules didn't say anything as he continued. "Your job is to save lives, Jules. That's always been your job. But mine—his? Our job was to take them. And after a while, you either get so used to it that you don't feel anything anymore, you get out, or it gets to the point where its going to overwhelm you to the point that you can't do anything anymore. That's how it was for me. It seemed like there were only those three options for me, for my teammates, for everyone I knew. I was one of the ones that got out.

"Don't get me wrong, though," he added quickly when she was about to speak. "I was fighting for my country and I am proud of that. But I was also so tired of all the lives that I kept taking. I needed a change of pace. I needed to see if I could be any good at saving lives, maybe be better at saving them than I was at taking them."

"If it makes any difference, I think you're getting the hang of it. You did pretty good today, for example."

He smiled softly. "Thanks."

She nodded towards the TV. "Mind if I stay and watch the game?"

"Yeah, why not. I've got pizza coming, if you like pepperoni."

She smiled and got more comfortable. "Sounds great."

 **Please, please review! Tell me what you liked or hated, or what you want to see in the next chapter!**


	8. Never Kissed a girl

**S1E8 Never Kissed a Girl**

 **Guys. They took Flashpoint OFF OF NETFLIX! What am I going to do? Ugh. I hope you like this one…just finished up finals for one of my classes so I am now mostly free again. I hope I will update faster in the future!**

 **Disclaimer: Flashpoint and all of its characters don't belong to me.**

"Talk to me, Eddie. Please just talk to me."

Sophie Lane knew that something was up. She had heard of what happened in the courthouse; she had taken to watching the news so she would know what was going on with Ed.

But now he was quiet in a whole other way. "Eddie," she said softly.

Clark was at cello practice and would not be home for another hour. They needed to discuss this now. But they could only do so if he would open up. Otherwise, she was stuck.

"The kid at the courthouse said he was wrongfully convicted of a murder. When you look over that facts, see what they had against him and what was said and done, I'm tending to lean more in his favor."

She looked up in surprise. Whatever she had been expecting, this was not it. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed in front of him and staring at the island in the middle. Finally, he looked up at her. "You know why I was down at the courthouse in the first place?"

"You said something about needing to go over a call from awhile back," she said quietly, coming to lean against the counter next to him.

"Petar Tomasic. He was the son of a Scorpio shot. Says it was a wrongful shooting." He shook his head and finally looked at Sophie. "I did what I was trained to do. His father was going to kill that woman. He would've killed Parker. What was I supposed to do?"

"You did what you had to do," Sophie assured him. "I know that, Clark knows that, your team knows that."

"But Tomasic doesn't believe it."

"It was his father, Eddie," she said softly. "Everyone grieves in a different way. Maybe this is his."

He shook his head and almost smiled. "That's what the boss said."

Sophie smiled too. "I knew I liked him for a reason." Then she turned serious. "Ed, you did your job. Maybe in time Petar will see that. But you can't let him doubt that you did what was right. Don't let him win by causing you to beat yourself up over this." She turned to face him head on now, turning him to face her as well. "You are very good at your job, Eddie. You care about people and you want to make sure that everyone can go home safely. That was proven today when no one was hurt. You even managed to get the young man in the courthouse to walk out after he tried to turn to suicide.

"Sometimes not everyone can go home, and when that happens you do what you need to and try to save as many lives as possible. And I know that eats you up inside. I can see it every time you come home from one of those calls. But you need to know that you did the right thing."

"It's hard," he admitted quietly.

"I know. And that's what I'm here for. But you need to be open with me, Ed. I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

He wrapped his arms around her and the two stood holding each other for a long time. Finally Ed pulled away. "What did I do to deserve you?"

She smirked and let him pull away. "Do I even need to answer that?"

FPFPFPFPFPFPFP

Michael Jameson walked slowly out of the cemetery. He didn't want to leave her, still didn't want to let her go, even though she had been gone for a long time. But he was still in love with her, still in love with the girl who had made friends with an outsider.

"It's hard to let go."

Michael turned in surprise to see the officer from the courthouse. "Officer Lane," he said.

"Ed. How you holding up?"

The young man shrugged. He didn't know, so he didn't have an answer. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," the officer said quietly. Michael regarded him for a moment. In the courthouse he had lied when he said he worked in the building, but he was a good man. He had tried to keep things civil, and he had made sure that Michael would be able to go home. Not a lot of cops were like that. Not a lot of them would care if he had gone home.

"Earlier today you said that we weren't that different. That you had done something you were still answering to. What was it?"

The officer in front of him rubbed his chin for a moment, looking thoughtful. Michael almost wanted to take it back, but a part of him had to know. Was it something so similar that caused the officer to help him stay alive? Did someone accuse him of a murder he didn't commit and that was why he was so interested in making sure Cheznik answered for his crimes? He had to know.

"Some weeks ago I was on call at a hostage situation. A man was holding a woman hostage, and I was given permission to fire. His son blames me for the death."

"I'm sorry," Michael said quietly. He shouldn't have asked, but the officer didn't look upset. Maybe he would be fine in asking another question. "How do you do it? I mean, how do you keep going when everyone seems to want you to answer for something that's not your fault?"

Lane leaned against a nearby tree as he thought of his answer. Finally he said, "I go home each night. I'm not the best at it, but I have a family that I love. A wife who keeps putting up with me when I know I can get exasperating. A little boy who's not so little anymore. I go home to my family and I try to be a good husband and a good father. Most importantly, when I can get over myself enough to do it, I talk with my wife about what happened and she helps me. She tells me that she'll always be there for me. She helps me see that sometimes, we don't have a choice. Sometimes the world is just playing against us."

The two men watched as a couple of birds were startled into a flight as a vehicle passed them. "You got a family, Michael?"

"I've got my mom and dad."

Lane nodded, and Michael found himself hanging on to every word. "Go home and be with them. Let them help you. Talk to them."

"Thanks," Michael finally said after mulling over this for a few minutes. He stuck out his hand, and Lane firmly grasped it.

"Need a ride home?"

But Michael shook his head. "Thanks but no. I enjoy being able to walk from place to place. But thanks again."

As the officer walked back to his car, Michael pondered over what had just happened. He had thought the only person outside his family who would ever care about him was Katie. He didn't really have any other friends.

Yet here was this officer who showed up out of the blue and talked to him when he didn't have to. Tried to help him. Maybe he would be able to make more friends. If they could turn this over so he wasn't guilty of the murder, maybe one day they would find who really killed his best friend. And then maybe other people would see that he didn't do it, so maybe they wouldn't stay away from him.

Maybe this world could turn into a better place.

 **I hope you guys enjoyed it! Please review and tell me if there's anything specific you want to see in the next chapter!**


	9. Planets Aligned

**S1E9 Planets Aligned**

 **Parker going to Dallas**

Though he knew he had cause to be nervous, Parker just couldn't help but think that he needed to calm down. No, he _knew_ that he needed to calm down. _It won't help your cause if you freak out all over them, buddy._ He paused and took a deep breath to calm himself, get him back in the right mindset.

Steeling himself, he got out of the car and moved up the driveway, every step aching to turn around and go back. But he knew that if he wanted any chance of seeing his boy again, he needed to do this. So he carried on, each step coming a little easier than the last. Finally, he reached the door. Before he stopped himself, he reached out a finger and rang the doorbell.

It took twenty-one seconds to answer the door. He knew because he counted each and every one of them, reminding himself that he had to stay here. He had to see his boy, even if it meant begging to get it done.

The moment she opened the door, Greg knew this was going to be tricky. Her face, pleasant as she had opened the door, immediately closed down, her lips a thin line on her face, eyes narrowed.

"Joanne," he said pleasantly, years of practice making sure his voice didn't shake.

"Greg. What are you doing here?" she asked harshly.

"Please," he said softly. "I just wanted to see Dean." She opened her mouth to say something else, but he pressed on. "I know I messed up, Jo. But that was years ago—I turned my life around. I have a good job, a good team. I haven't picked up a bottle in years. I promise."

"I don't care," she replied. "You screwed up your chance of becoming his father, Greg. Now you need to leave. Right now."

Even as she said it, Greg could see past her as a head poked its way around a corner. His heart broke.

Dean had been five years old the last time Greg had seen him. That had been eight years ago, and his once little boy was now thirteen. He was a _teenager_. How could Greg had messed up so much? "Please, Jo," he said again. "Just let me say hello. All I want is to say hello to my son."

Joanne turned around, saw Dean, and stepped out onto the porch, slamming the door shut behind her. "No. I am not going to subject him to what I had to deal with for years. No. Absolutely not, Greg. Leave. I'm not going to tell you again."

And with that, she turned around and slammed the door again, this time in his face.

FPFPFPFPFPFPFP

 **Sam's reaction to the gun being pointed at Jules**

Sam closed the door gently as he tossed his keys into the bowl by the door. He knew his motions were small and thoughtful because he was trying to comprehend what had happened during the day, but he was too focused on trying to understand, wrapping his mind around what had happened. So he kept the movements small, focusing on each task as he put his bag away, picked out the clothes he would wear tomorrow, and grabbed a broom to begin sweeping.

Cleaning had always been his way to deal with all the crap in his life. So he cleaned, sweeping first before grabbing the mop to wash the floors. Then he began washing, drying, and putting away any and all dishes he could find, not that there were many. But he kept moving, kept cleaning, and gradually pieced together the events of the day and his thoughts and feelings towards those moments.

Jules had a gun pointed at her, and it was his fault. She could have been killed, and it would have been on her hands.

He never should have let the girl go next to Jules without being in between the two of them. She had a _gun_ in her hands! And he had let her go to that window without stepping in between the two of them. He was the one with the gun; Jules had no weapon in her hands.

He could still see the shotgun being pointed straight at Jules, watched as the girl came close to pulling the trigger. She was scared and he was helpless, Jules in between himself and Penny.

Sam finished cleaning out his gun and laid back on his bed, gun held firmly in his hand, a familiar weight. He could still feel the heart-pounding terror, could feel his throat closing up making it hard to swallow or even breathe. He forced himself into sniper breathing. In…2…3…4…Out…2…3…4. He did this several times until he found it easy to breathe again, closing his eyes to concentrate.

Finally, he had to open them again when he heard the doorbell ring. Groaning quietly to himself, he rolled onto his feet and put the gun away carefully before heading to the door.

Opening it, he widened his eyes in surprise as Jules walked in. She didn't say anything, just walked past him. Closing the door, he began to slowly smile.

 **Sorry it took so long to post, guys. Finding a way to watch this has become much more challenging since its off of Netflix. Speaking of, does anyone know the next episode name? Everything online when I look says it's Eagle Two, but I'm pretty sure that's the episode after Between Heartbeats. So, a little help?**

 **And review! Tell me what you want to see in the next chapter! I love reviews!**


	10. Eagle Two

**S1E10: Eagle Two**

 **I know, I know. It's been a long time, and I have absolutely no excuse. I hope you enjoy it, and please let me know what you think and what you want to see next chapter (whenever I get around to it)!**

 **Disclaimer: Flashpoint and all of its characters are not mine.**

 **Date night for Ed**

"You mad?"

"No."

He paused for a moment, then asked the question he knew he wasn't supposed to ask. "You sure?"

He could feel her half-smile before she responded. "I'm sure." He tightened his grip around her as she leaned in closer, and just let the nearness of her sooth him. "Did you save anyone tonight?"

He leaned his head back farther, almost not quite sure how to answer that. Did he? He watched a man tell a horrible truth to save the woman he loved most in the world. He watched as that woman ran to him, holding nothing against him for not telling her, and watched as the love they had for each other beat out even a haunted past.

He knew he played a part in making sure that they were safe. He was well aware of what his job entailed, he knew that he did it well. Ed loved his job and loved his team, but some part of him knew that the person he saved wasn't who they called "Eagle One" or "Eagle Two". He had a bad habit of keeping things from Sophie, from bottling up things and making sure she never found out about them.

He had a habit, he knew, of not being 100% there when he was home, of letting work consume him to the point that he was all cop all the time. And that wasn't what his family needed. They didn't just need the cop part of him. They needed the dad and husband part of him, the family man. He knew he had trouble, but he also knew that it was essential to making his marriage work and holding his family together.

"Yeah," he slowly replied. "I think I did."

There was that half-smile again, the one he loved her so dearly for. They lay in the hammock for a while longer, swinging gently with the breeze as he pondered how he was going to approach her about this. Finally he decided the point-blank approach was best. He sat slightly up to turn towards her.

"Eddie?" she asked, and he couldn't blame her confusion.

"Soph," he began, and then stopped. Finally, he closed his eyes and then opened them again. "I need your help."

"With what?"

"I want to be a better husband, a better father." She opened her mouth to reply, but he held up a hand. Better to get it all out now than lose courage. "I realized something tonight. I know I tend to focus all on work, even sometimes when I'm home. And I don't know how to turn that part off of me. All I've ever wanted to be was a cop, and it's everything I ever wanted. But I realized that you mean more to me than that. I know I'm gonna mess up, and I can't promise that I'm gonna be good at it. I don't know how to turn it off. But I want you to help me…I want to be everything you need me to be here. I want to be the father Clark needs and wants me to be. And I need your help to do it."

He didn't even know if he was making sense now, or if she understood what he was trying to get at. But in a minute his worries were dispensed because she got it, and he knew she would because she always understood, even when he didn't understand it himself.

She took his face in her hands and looked him in the eyes. "It would be my pleasure to help you, Eddie. You know that I will always help you."

He closed his eyes and brought her closer, tasting her lips on his. Loving the way her body felt pressed against his, and knowing that his everything, his entire life, was here with him tonight.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

FPFPFPFPFPFPFP

 **Sam back at the barn**

 _Idiot._

That's what he was. A gigantic, moronic idiot. What was he thinking, kissing Jules? Sure, she had kissed him back, but he knew this couldn't go far. There were rules against this kind of thing for a reason.

He parked the truck and climbed out slowly, going through the motions to get ready to leave. Work clothes off, civvy clothes on. Pack bag, put on shoulder. Grab the keys and head towards front door.

He carried these actions out subconsciously, focusing on his problem. Unchaining his bike, Sam slowly started pedaling for home, calculating traffic patterns and reviewing nightlife activities around the area to figure out the quickest way home. Course set, he kept an eye on his surroundings and began to think of Jules again.

He wanted her. He wanted her more than anything he'd ever wanted before. Her sarcasm, her fierceness, the way she could hold her own in a fight, the way she could take whatever life threw at her and dish some right back out. She was like no one he had ever met before, and it was incredible.

But there were rules, and Sam had always played by the book. His entire life he had followed a rulebook, from childhood to the army. He didn't question the orders he followed. He was a good soldier.

But his life changed when he joined Team One. Though they did things by the book, it was a very different playbook. In his old unit he would have been given the order to eliminate the threat today. However, Parker had told him to do what was necessary and had congratulated him on knowing right where to shoot him in the arm to make sure the device didn't go off. Two lives had been saved with his actions, and not a single one was taken. His old superiors would have been angry—but his new one congratulated and praised him on his thinking.

Sam knew he was getting too comfortable here, but he couldn't help it. He _liked_ what he did. He used to think all he would ever do and be good at was being a soldier. But here, he wasn't taking people's lives. He was saving them. Different playbook.

If he wanted Jules, he knew he would have to be off the team. Jules wouldn't pick him over the job, he knew. He wasn't worth it.

But he was starting to consider that maybe she was.


	11. Backwards Day

**S1E11: Backwards Day**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Flashpoint or any of its characters.**

"I was thinking about what you said. I'm gonna take Clark and Soph and head up to the cottage for the weekend."

Ed knew he had pleased Greg as his boss smiled in relief and nodded his head in acceptance. "Good. That's good, Eddie. I hope you have a good time."

Ed paused, wanting to say something more; wanting to go over what had happened today. But he could sense that right now wasn't the time to talk about it—the day had ended without anyone dying, so they were going to count it as a win and end there. There was no need to bring it up again.

FPFPFPFPFPFPFP

"Are you serious?"

Ed couldn't help but grin at his son's enthusiasm. "Unless you really want to go to school tomorrow, yeah, I'm serious."

Clark scoffed. "Yeah—wanting to go and sit in a boring classroom for seven hours or go to the cottage? Tough choice, that one."

"All right wise guy. Go pack."

With one last grin the fourteen-year-old bounded up the stairs to get everything he would need for the next three days.

Ed slipped an arm around Sophie's waist and pulled her close, kissing her softly on the crown of her head. Together, they walked upstairs to their bedroom at a much more sedate pace.

FPFPFPFPFPFPFP

Ed Lane leaned back and smiled, thinking over the past weekend. It had been good. He should have done something like this earlier.

He and Clark had bonded more over this past weekend than the past six months combined. He had taught his son how to hunt, how to track, and how to clean and prepare an animal. He and Sophie had taken walks and talked about anything under the moon: his job, her job, Clark's school, even their favorite movies and TV shows and the pros and cons of each. There had been no arguments between him and his son, though they did talk about classes. They even spoke of a girl that Clark liked and tips on how to approach her.

 _"She probably doesn't even know my name."_

 _"Did you ever introduce yourself to her?"_

 _"Well…kind of." Ed grinned and shook his head. "We had a group project together. She's really popular, though. Everyone likes her."_

 _"Clark, you won't know until you try."_

 _His son groaned and flung himself dramatically to the ground, laying on his back, fishing pole abandoned at his side. "Easier said than done, dad."_

 _"Well, you could always find a topic you both like."_

 _Clark propped himself up on his elbows. "Like what?"_

 _Ed threw up his hands. "How should I know? I don't even know her name!"_

 _"Amber."_

 _"What does Amber like to do?"_

 _"Reading, I guess. She always has a book."_

 _Ed shook his head, trying not to laugh. "Well, that's it then. If she likes books, you're screwed."_

 _Clark threw a patch of dirt at his dad's shaking shoulders, hitting him dead-on, and flopped back down._

 _"Just kidding. But I'm serious, Clark. Find something that she likes to do that you like to do too, and go from there. See if she's in an after school club that you're interested in."_

 _Clark eyed his dad suspiciously. "Are you telling me to stalk Amber?"_

 _He grinned. "Just call it educational surveillance."_

Overall, it had been one of the best weekends of his life.

Now as they drove back, he turned to the rearview mirror and watched his family sleep. He knew that he was lucky to have them, just as he knew that the one-on-one time spent with his son was going to be fewer and shorter as the years passed by. His son was a teenager now, and spending time with his dad was probably low on his list of things to do. So he resolved to himself that he would find more time for Clark and for Sophie. Whenever his son wanted to be with him, he would allow it, he'd make it work—who knew how many more times he would have?

Glancing back at the road ahead, he grinned and turned the music down, being sure not to wake his family. They needed to do this more often.

 **Please review and let me know what you think, along with any ideas you have for the next chapter!**


	12. Haunting the Barn

**S1E12 Haunting the Barn**

When Sam first mentioned the booze, Ed wanted to tell him off for even suggesting such a thing. He wanted to yell at the rookie that he didn't know what he was talking about, but he held back. They had already alienated Sam enough at the beginning, and he knew from experience that Sam usually knew what he was talking about. So he had to stop and think for a moment—did Daniel have an alcohol smell on him?

Maybe vaguely, he thought, and then pushed it to the back of his head as he focused on the task at hand. But he didn't forget.

FPFPFPFPFPFPFP

"You can't do this without telling us why." _Without telling ME why_ , he ached to say. Seeing the gun to his head almost stopped his heart, Ed was certain. This was a man that he had looked up to, admired, strived to be like since the day he met him. Since the day Danny convinced him to join the SRU. And now, watching as that same man fell apart, Eddie wondered if this was just how life was going to play out. Was his life destined to go down the same path as Danny's?

Even as he said the words, he considered them. "You taught me everything I know. Made me who I am. You can't tell me that this is how it ends." _Please don't let this be how it ends._ Were all the people he knew, himself included, destined to go down this path? This path of seclusion, alcoholism, and madness?

Danny was seeing ghosts, so was he.

Danny kept dwelling on the calls that he couldn't get to in time, all the people they couldn't talk down—how many times did he do the same?

How long would it be before he was driven to the point that Danny was already at?

FPFPFPFPFPFPFP

When Ed got home, he slipped into the garage before Soph could see him. He pulled out the letter again and tried to breathe deeply, but his throat caught and it was all he could do to hold himself together. He startled when Sophie entered his space and was tempted to tell her to go inside, but an earlier discussion wiggled its way into his mind.

 _"I realized something tonight. I know I tend to focus all on work, even sometimes when I'm home. And I don't know how to turn that part off of me…But I want you to help me."_ So he closed his eyes, let go a breath, and opened the chest.

He watched as she made her way over and looked inside, fingers lifting but not touching the newspaper clippings, the pictures, and slowly handed her the note that he had kept hidden from the rest of his team.

 _I'm sorry_ was written on it, and he slowly placed it the bottom shelf before shutting it.

Without saying a word she turned to him, and he burrowed is face in her hair, relishing in the smell of soft lavender. She let him stay like that for a minute before she softly asked, "Does it help?"

"What?"

"This shelf, chest…does it help?"

Taken aback by the question, Ed truly thought for a minute, and Sophie watched his face as he went through the stages of wondering to realization. "Yes and no. There are days when it makes me want to push forward through everything and be a better person."

"And?" she prompted when he hesitated.

"There are days when it makes me wonder if I'm going to turn out like them," he admitted frankly. _Like Danny._

"Then keep it," she instructed. "And on the days when it makes you wonder, you take yourself to me, day or night, and I will set you straight. You are a good man, Edward Lane. I will not let anyone, even yourself, tell you differently."


	13. Between Heartbeats

**Parker about Sam and Jules**

Greg watched the two for a few moments before he decided to make his presence known. Though Jules was not his daughter, he loved her like his own, and that was something everyone knew. And it was because of this love for her that what was happening in front of him had to be addressed.

"Ahead of schedule. You getting any help?"

Hearing her blatantly lie to him hurt, but she knew as well as he that romantic relationships between the team was forbidden, and for good reason. Priority of life could be obstructed if someone that you were romantically involved with was in danger. But still, knowing that she was lying to his face hurt.

Later, he would have to have a talk with Jules—and maybe with Sam, too. He would plan to talk with her after shift today.

FPFPFPFPFPFPFP

 **Clark with his dad**

Clark sat fidgeting in his bed, glancing out the window occasionally. He could hear his mom and dad talking in the next room, but wondered if he could bother them. It was silly, he knew, to be afraid now, especially if the bad guy couldn't get to him.

The truth was, though, was that he was terrified to go to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he just remembered the strange guy coming up to him. He was so _sure_ that the guy was going to kidnap him or something, and there would have been nothing he could do about it. But no, instead the guy went after his dad! Clark just knew that the guy would have killed his dad, and now the visions were mixing—either the guy kidnapping him or his dad dying. He didn't like seeing either.

Finally he gave up and laid down, determined to be strong. His dad was the one who had almost died today, not him. If his dad wasn't afraid, then he wouldn't be either.

Ed and Sophie kept speaking quietly late into the night. Finally, after he had gone through the evens of the day and they had spoken with great detail about it, they were sitting quietly in bed, her reading and him just playing quietly with her hair. All was good, his favorite person in bed with him and his son in the next room. Though he was worried about Jules, it was hard not to feel content.

…Until a scream interrupted the silence.

Ed bolted from the bed, sidearm in hand as he moved silently towards Clark's room, sure that someone had broken in and gotten to his boy. However, when he opened the door, the only fight was happening…with his sheets?

The cop slipped the gun into his waistband and moved towards his son, Sophie watching from the doorway. "Clark," Ed called. "Wake up, son. It's okay; you're safe. Clark, I need you to wake up."

He spoke these words as he drew nearer to his boy, finally able to reach Clark's shoulders and gently drew him into a hug. He felt Clark's arms reach around his back to hug him back, and the boy sobbed, clinging to his father. "He killed you."

"No, buddy, I'm right here. Not going anywhere. I'm right here."

"But, in my dream…he took me, and he made me watch. He killed you!"

"Oh, Clark." Ed pressed his cheek to the curly locks as he rubbed his hand up and down Clark's back, aching to soothe him. "It was just a dream, buddy. He can't get you or me, okay? He's gone, Clark. We're _safe_."

It took a few more minutes, but finally Clark quieted down and drew away from him. "Clark, you know I would never let anyone hurt you, right?"

"I know," he said quietly.

"Good."

Now Ed was at a loss—normally comforting Clark, at least when he was younger, was Sophie's job. But when he looked at the doorway again, she was gone, leaving him to handle it. He nearly rolled his eyes. _Probably wants us to bond._ But how was he supposed to go about doing that?

"Hey, Clark?" He waited till he saw a nod in acknowledgement. "I'm curious about something. Today, you sounded really freaked out on the phone, and I honestly thought you would have come to the station instead of school. You know that I wouldn't have been mad if you did, right?"

"I know. But, I was…well, I"

"You what?" Ed prompted when he hesitated yet again.

"I was trying to be brave. You would have still gone to work if that happened to you, and it's not like the guy actually did anything to me."

Ed stared at him for a minute, astounded. "I know one thing, Clark. You are definitely braver than I was when I was your age. I probably would have run home if someone had come up to me like that. The fact that you were able to go to school anyway is pretty dang impressive, kiddo."

Clark smiled shyly at his dad. "Dad, that guy…he's really gone, right? He can't get you anymore?"

"Yes, he's gone. You're safe, Clark. You, me and your mom…we're safe and we're going to have fun tomorrow. That is, if you ever get any sleep. Don't want to be stuck with Grouchy all day."

Clark rolled his eyes. "Dad, please. The dwarf's name is Grumpy."

"Whatever, Dorky," Ed called over his shoulder.

"That one's name is Dopey!" Clark yelled back. "God, it's like you never even had a childhood!"

Ed chuckled and continued on back to his room. Messing with his son was so much _fun_.


	14. Business as Usual

**Seeing the recruiting process**

"Are they good?"

"Down to six."

"Out of?"

"300. So yeah, they're good."

Sam and Jules talked about the recruits a little bit more before he left to go see said people. While he told Jules the truth—they were good, no doubt about it—he did not enjoy this. And not just because he didn't want anyone to take Jules' spot.

Watching the recruitment process just drove in the point that he did not become a member of this team the normal way, and everyone there knew it—especially the recruits. And though they didn't say anything in front of the other SRU members, and Sam didn't either, the recruits made it more than clear of what they thought when they were with each other or Sam was in the room alone.

Like he was now. "Well if it isn't the special recruit," one of them—an Adam Desson—sneered. "Get your dad to place you anywhere else? Decide you're bored here yet? Or maybe they just haven't been able to find a way to kick you out without upsetting your father."

Sam rolled his eyes and ignored them and their juvenile insults, making it seem like they weren't getting to him.

"I heard that SRU was guilted into taking him—an army vet with nowhere to go."

"Yeah. Cause the SRU is so easy to be blackmailed into taking someone that would potentially hurt innocent people," a new voice joined the party.

Sam looked towards the mirror out of the corner of his eye and saw the most promising of the recruits—Donna Sabine. He had to admit, to himself, that he was slightly impressed she was standing up for someone she barely knew. "I thought we were all on the same side here." Now the recruits were looking away, at least a couple were. There were still some that were glaring at her. One went to speak, but Sam stepped in front of them.

"I think you guys are going to be late if you don't get moving."

A few more glared before they all left the locker room, some pushing into him on their way out.

Sam waited, but turned to acknowledge Sabine who was still waiting behind him. He almost expected her to brush off his attempt to help her, but instead, she merely said, "Thanks."

He cocked his head, bright blue eyes searching hers. "Most people would assume that I'm the one who's supposed to say that."

"Doesn't mean I can't say it as well." She met his gaze head-on, then turned to follow her fellow officers. "Besides, I didn't do anything someone else wouldn't do."

"Jules is going to come back."

She stopped and looked back at him. "I know." She grinned. "Jules is an amazing woman—I would hate it if she didn't come back. We don't have enough female officers here. Especially in the SRU. I just hope that I can prove myself to get on this team, and then maybe, even if I can't stay on Team One, I'll have proved myself enough to earn a place somewhere on the SRU, even if it isn't with Team One."

Sam could say nothing as she continued out the door. He knew the other guys on Team One liked her the most, and he knew the only reason was because of a couple of reasons, one being Jules and one being the general way all the potential recruits had been treating him.

But maybe he could learn to work with her. At least until Jules got back on her feet.

 **FPFPFPFPFPFPFP**

 **Ed bringing them TH**

"Yeah, thanks, Soph. I'll see you in a bit." Ed slipped the phone back into his pocket and shifted the carrier so he was holding it with both hands again. He almost chuckled at the shocked faces that looked back up at him, but the scenery kept him sober.

Tossing the carrier, he took his drink and sat down next to the three. No words were exchanged as they waited, all being said earlier. Ed sat with them like that for an hour until they were called to be processed.

"Did it get better for your parents?" Ed looked back at the question, seeing that Stan had been pulled away first, with the other two halting to ask him. "You said, earlier, that you had to watch your parents go through the same thing. Did it get better for them?"

Ed thought hard, and the officer waited until he answered before he took the men back to the processing. "I'm not going to lie—it was hard for them, and that's with what I could see. But they pulled through. There were days I was sleeping at friends' houses for weeks but in the end…they're together. Maybe, in the end, that's all that really counts."


	15. The Fortress

**S2E2 The Fortress**

"I took my nephew, okay? I'm a good uncle," Spike defended himself. He couldn't help but grin as he thought about the weekend. He loved his nephew—the only guy in a bunch of girls. His name was Sebastian, but Spike had taken to calling him Bas, as Bas loved the nickname "Spike". He was the only one in Spike's family who called him that. He thought about the past weekend as he continued his exercise.

 _"What are we doing today, Uncle Spike?"_

 _Spike grinned after giving the five-year-old a stuffed Simba. "Well, the_ Lion King _is in town, and I was wondering—" He didn't have a chance to finish as Bas squealed and threw himself at Spike, who caught him easily. "Go get ready, champ."_

 _"Thanks for looking after him today, Michelangelo. I really do appreciate it."_

 _"No problem, sis. I'll have him back later tonight. Enjoy your day date."_

 _Pretty soon, the two males were off, singing along to the lion king that Spike had so thoughtfully set up in his car. Bas had even convinced his uncle to let him eat gelato—though Spike managed to make him promise to eat lunch first. Afterwards, the two made their way to the stadium that would be broadcasting The Lion King._

 _Spike could only gape when he saw his Boss speaking with a woman and a small boy, probably around Bas's age. "Uncle Spike, what's wrong?"_

 _He managed to rivet his gaze to the young boy, suddenly aware that they had stopped in the middle of the hallway. "Nothing, champ, something just caught my eye. Let's go find our seats, yeah?"_

 _When the show was finally over, Spike was pretty sure that he had lost most of his hearing courtesy of some high-pitched shrieking giggles in the form of a four-foot body beside him. However, it was well worth it when at the end, Bas leaped out of his seat and clung to Spike like a monkey._

 _"This was the best day EVER!" Bas exclaimed. "Thank you for bring me, Uncle Spike!"_

 _"Of course, Bas. What do you say we head to the splash park before we head home, yeah?" The splash park was a little playground that had water available in forms of a tiny pool, some cemented squirt guns, a bucket that toppled over when full, and various other stuff. Spike had found it on patrol one day and Bas had fallen in love with it when Spike first took him there. It was a bit chilly out, but the park was still working and a few families with eager children braved the weather to go. As predicted, Bas nearly fell over himself in excitement of trying to get out the door, and Spike had to hold him back to let other people continue on their way out before the two could exit themselves._

Spike was jolted back to reality as the team began to cool down from their exercises. He wondered when his sister had her next date with her husband, and wondered if he would be off work at the time. He wouldn't mind being the babysitter again.


	16. S2E3 Clean Hands

**S2E3 Clean Hands**

Sam stayed in his seat even as the others got up to leave. Soon it was just him, Sarge and Wordy. The older men got up and looked worriedly at him when he remained seated. "You okay, Sam?"

Sam glanced at him, subtly rubbing his head as if it could clear up his blurry vision. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." He went to stand up, as though to prove his point, but only succeeded in becoming even more nauseous than he already was as the room was sent spinning again. His knees buckled and he dropped to his knees. Over the roaring in his ears he could vaguely hear Sarge and Wordy calling his name.

One of the two placed a hand on his chest to help him into a sitting position, and Sam couldn't help but cry out as they inadvertently touched his bruised ribs. "Sorry, buddy," Wordy said soothingly as he helped Sam into the chair. Sarge had gone to find Ed and call an ambulance. "Just need to get you sitting up. You able to talk?"

Sam braced himself and almost nodded before thinking better of it. "Yeah," he whispered, but even that took a lot of him.

"Can you give me a sit-rep?"

"A couple of bruised ribs, major headache and nausea, probably a concussion," Sam replied automatically before wincing, which made him want to wince again at the onslaught of pounding in his head. His vision grew more blurred as the pounding did not decrease like usual, and instead rose steadily.

"Sam? Sam!" But the younger man did not appear to hear him, which caused Wordy to become even more worried. That anxiety rose as Sam tried to get up, even as Wordy tried to keep pressure on him to stay in the chair. Eventually, though, Sam fell to the ground and Wordy held him as the younger man began to vomit.

By now, Greg and Ed had returned. "Ambulance is on the way," Greg said quietly.

"No," Sam protested softly. "'M fine, Sarge. Don't need hospital." But he contradicted himself as he began to vomit again, this time into the trashcan that was helpfully placed by him. The older men watched, concerned, as Sam began to fall forward and they realized he was unconscious. Wordy and Ed quickly reached out and grabbed him.

"Sam?" But the blonde-haired man did not answer, and at that moment, the ambulance came.

The medics took over the situation quickly and efficiently. "Anyone know what caused this?"

The three older men looked at each other in confusion until Ed widened his eyes. "Concussion grenade."

"What?"

"Today, on call, Sam jumped on some concussion grenades to contain the blast. He's a soldier—it's ingrained into him," he defended his teammate to the medics. "But he wasn't showing any symptoms earlier."

"Probably just hid them really well," Wordy muttered. Nevertheless, the three answered more questions and it was agreed upon that Ed would accompany Sam in the ambulance. The other two would drive separate and meet them there.

"I'll call Sophie and let her know," Greg assured his TL. "Just keep an eye on our boy, okay?"

Ed nodded in confirmation as the doors slammed shut behind him.

Two hours had passed and still Sam remained out of it. The doctors had told him that there wasn't much more they could do for the officer. "Sleep is best thing for him right now, so long as someone does concussion checks," the doctor told the team. "Bed rest would be ideal for him, especially because he didn't get help right away—that probably is why he's having such a reaction right now."

"Next time, we'll be sure to let the gunman holding our teammate hostage know that," Lou sniped, though quietly. He knew the doctors were just doing their job, and he was grateful for that.

"Can we seem him, doc?" Greg asked. The doctor nodded immediately.

"Of course. He should be waking up within the hour."

Team One began to file quietly into the room, each settling down to wait him out. Ed leaned against one of the back walls while most of the others grabbed spare chairs from in the room and out. Wordy stepped out to update Shelley again.

"Boss, how come he didn't say something? He sat through the entire debrief without saying a word. Why?"

Greg looked at Spike thoughtfully. "I'm not sure, Spike. I'll guess we'll just have to ask him when he wakes up."

"Ask me what?" Sam's voice slurred. He moved his left arm a bit and the entire team watched as he paused, turned his head slowly to the left, saw the needle, and groaned. His eyes closed again and remained that way, though he lifted a few fingers to let the team know he was still awake.

"Maybe ask you why you failed to mention to anyone that you had a concussion," Ed said mildly. But Wordy knew his friend was deeply upset—as team leader, Ed was responsible for the safety and well being of his team, and Wordy knew he was kicking himself for not checking Sam over after the situation was cleared.

Sam kept his face impartial. "Didn't seem important. Nothing a good night's sleep wouldn't cure. I'll be fine for tomorrow."

"No," Ed cut in. "You're off duty for the rest of the week. You can't work with a concussion, Braddock."

"Sir, I don't think that's necessary. I'll be able to work tomorrow, I promise."

Ed stared at him in shock. _Sir? I thought we got rid of that title a long time ago._ Mind made up, he turned to the rest of the team. "I think Sam's going to be fine—you guys can head home."

Not daring to argue the dangerous look in their TL's eyes, the younger officers immediately began to head out, leaving just Greg, Wordy and Ed. Finally, when the door was shut, Ed turned back to the blonde-haired officer staring resolutely at the sheets on his bed, jaw set.

 _He thinks he's going to get a dressing down,_ Ed realized. _What is going on?_ Aloud, he finally managed to say, "Sir? Where did that come from?"

Sam ignored him and focused on his sheets, hoping they would take the hint and leave. He hated having a concussion—it messed with his thoughts and emotions, leaving them very hard to control. If he started talking now, he knew, he would have a hard time shutting up.

"Sam, buddy," Greg said gently, "we just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," he responded automatically.

"Says the man lying in the hospital with a concussion."

Sam turned angry eyes to his TL. "What do you care? I—"

"What do you mean, what do I care? You're my teammate, Braddock, of course I care!"

"You never wanted me on the team!" he shouted back. Sam wanted so desperately to shut his mouth, but he was focusing more on not throwing up than controlling what he was saying. "You'd probably love it if I was out of commission for good."

Silence rang through, a deep silence that, on some part, they wanted to break, and on another, they wanted to leave the conversation for another day—one where Sam would be up to the conversation and not dealing with the concussion.

Before the men could figure out what to do next, a nurse came in, checking his charts. "Your blood pressure is up, dear," she said to Sam as she ran some checks on him. "Do I need to tell your visitors to leave?"

For a while, the older officers were afraid that the blond would say yes, but then he shook his head. They waited until the nurse was gone before turning back to Sam. "What the hell is that about?"

Sam ignored Ed, closing his eyes. "Braddock, we are not—"

"Why did you never prank me?"

Ed stared at him, wondering if the concussion really was going to be a major issue. Because right now, it seemed like Sam was bouncing from idea to idea, unable to form a coherent conversation. Pranking? He was in a hospital bed, and he wanted to talk about them _pranking_ him?

But realization was slowly coming to Wordy, and the older man's face softened. "We were wrong, Sam. You're right, we were a bit put off when you joined the team—you've seen now how we normally get our teammates, and I think all of us were a little upset about the fact that you were thrown to us instead of us picking you. We should have welcomed you to the team, and instead we treated you like an outsider. I'm sorry."

By now Ed wanted to slap himself. Now that Wordy had spoken, he knew exactly where this was coming from—what he had said this morning about pranking Donna. How could he be so stupid? "The blame for that rests solely on me, Sam," he said softly. He waited for the younger man's eyes to catch his own. "The team took their signals from me, and I reacted badly to you joining the team. I didn't want you on the team when you first started, it's true—I saw you as an arrogant soldier who only wanted to shoot first and ask questions later. I was unable to get past that and I'm sorry. That's on me, Sam. That's all on me."

Sam held his gaze for a few more seconds before he looked away, not quite certain what to say in response. Ed didn't really need an answer, which was fortunate as a few seconds later, Sam drifted off to sleep.

A few days later, all the guys smirked as Sam came back in from his med leave, opened his locker, and immediately got a load of shaving cream to the face.

 **Hey guys! Sorry I haven't updated in awhile, but I've been having trouble coming up with ideas. So if any of you have suggestions, please let me know!**


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